of life when it's a bad day.
Sometimes I'm like a spinning top. I fall away; spinning out of control where I eventually pick myself up, only to fall again. But I've learned a valuable lesson being the spinning top. Eventually I'll settle and focus on my surroundings and know that it'll be okay.
She sat emotionless in the bed. The people around her were Vultures, although she was Okay with that, and didn't dread.
Deadly
She sat emotionless in the white room, As the vultures with the cure Preyed upon her between her legs. Eyes closed, she imagined doom.
Deadly
She sat in a bright room; mind twirling. There were others like her in That bright room, recovering, knowing Well their souls were swirling.
Deadly
She sat in the car; a shell. Watching the world pass by She thought to herself, When she would be going to Hell.
Deadly.
Sinner.
No Regrets.
How my cool cats doing?
Let me tell you a thing.
Source: Awwww Pets
Passion (a sequel to Lover) After all is done, the body is still not sated, it could never. Sweat of pleasure rolls off heaving chests. There is no voice, no thoughts, only moans of hunger, of need. Like the eternal flame, the fire never dies. The passion grows stronger as the flames are brought together. Earthly pleasure mixed with carnal passion makes for an awesome explosion. Time freezes as fingers enterwine as eyes wide open stare into the very soul. Little death claims the heart once again as the flames simmer down. The love is very much alive as they lay together. A shiver goes down their spine as the cool air blows against their naked flesh.
Lover Skin upon skin lies beautiful pleasure, To be devoured and released with ones breath. Cries and pleas whispered in sensitive ears, As the Heart explodes in pleasure. The pleasure is in the beauty of passion As it rolls off the writhing body. The chest rises and falls with every gasp, As the heart dies a little death. But it still trembles from head to toe. Lover stares down at the golden beauty, Smiling with pleasure and total hunger. A kiss is a just a kiss, and a Sigh is just a sigh as time goes on. Skin upon skin lies beautiful exstasy, As love comes together in passion.
and sometimes I don't know how to handle that feeling. His love for me is all encompassing, true, and beautiful.
She made a mistake, she made a horrible mistake. She was stupid, she was insane, she was only 12, she was a stupid, insane 12 year old. She was the only person her age to be in an asylum, or that she knew of. It was because of the voices, the bad voices that made her do bad stuff. Her parents thought she was insane, why should she think any different? They had enough of her burning herself, talking to herself, cutting her hair with a razor to try to get to the root of the problem, or so she said. So they drove her to a Psyche Ward and the people in the white uniforms interviewed her. They looked at her with smiles, but their eyes told something different, something evil. The voices told her that.
She didn’t test very well; she wouldn’t cooperate when the people in the white uniforms tried to takes some blood from her arm. It was her left arm, her useless arm, she wrote with her right hand. Why couldn’t they take samples from her right arm, her strong arm, the arm she used knives with when she ate steaks. She struggled, she bit, she spit, she punched, she cursed, she screamed, it took 5 people to get her to sit and settle down. She was pissed! There were two people holding each of her arms, 2 people holding each of her legs, and one man holding her head still, he was an evil man.
The voices went ballistic when they saw him through her eyes. They wanted to crawl out of her skin and eat him up alive. The evil man holding her head smirked at her, trying to hold back laughter. “Butterflies, I see butterflies dancing on your skin, drinking in your lust.” The evil man’s smirk died as his eyes hardened. The voices said they saw images in his head of what he would do to her if he ever got to be alone with her. ‘The big bad wolf is going to eat you all up,’ the voices chanted in her head.
The men in the uniforms and her parents discussed her situation as she sat there motionless, her heart full of rage, no matter what she did, she couldn’t express it. Maybe it was the drugs they forced down her throat. So she did what the drugs told her to do, she danced around the room in circles with her arms out wide humming a song in her head. Her mom stared at her helplessly with tears in her eyes, her dad watched her with concern and some embarrassment as the girl started to laugh.
Two men, the bad man from before and another man who looked like a model tried to get her to settle down as they cornered her against a wall. The man model tried to sooth her with words as the other man try to give her another shot. The look that the bad man gave her made her feel like prey so she spit on him. His nose flared, his face got red, and as he wiped the spittle from his eye he slapped her across the face, causing her lip to bleed. Seeing her distraction of shock he stabs the syringe in her arm as he laughs. She in desperation struggles, but when that doesn’t work she starts to hit him, but that made him seem happier to cause her more pain. As the effects of the sedation calms her down she cries as she falls to the ground. Her mother tries to sooth her with a hug, but the girl only pushes her away. The blurry white uniforms take her away to a white room. She heard the man in charge tell her parents they would do everything they could to cure her of her madness as the doors were closed behind her.
In her fear she tries her best to stay awake, to be stubborn as hell, to do everything in her power to get out. She pounds on the door cursing, even made death threats that the voices told her to say. A while later she collapses in exhaustion and dreams of stones and bones and little wormies crawling.
She woke up some times later when she heard foot steps. She sits up as the door opens to reveal a woman, the evil man, and the man in charge. The man in charge looked like her grand-pa, so she put a little trust in him. The woman kneels down as she inspects the girl. The woman sees the bruise on the girls left cheek and eyes the evil man. The evil man shrugs saying, “Some girls need a little tough lovin.” He smirks as the girl glares at him. The woman soothes the girl by singing her a song as the old man takes her pulse, shines a light in her eyes, and checks her head for deep cuts for when she cut her hair with the razor.
The voices were getting louder, so she did her best to listen to the woman, she was nice. But they didn’t like the song, they complained, they screamed, they got louder.
“No, no, please no more. Stop! No more, Amy good girl now, Amy good girl now!” The girl screamed as she pounded her head with her small fists as she rocked back and forth on her knees. The nice woman tried to stop her fists, but was unsuccessful. “Amy, tell me what’s wrong. Please, we’ll help you. Tell us.”
Through her tears the girl said, “In my head, too much in my head, it hurts, it swims, it pleads with me,” the girl babbled between each sob. “Make it go away…”
Children's books always speak the truth. Sometimes the cloud clear, and the sun peeks through just about the time your depression seems like it's going to choke you.
Very cool
More hearing people should learn some sign language so here are some actually useful signs for us hearing people to learn.
I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order. -John Burroughs
In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous. -Aristotle
How little you matter until plans change and you’re sitting there wondering what just happened.
and I'm feeling a bit down, so I'm watching funny videos on YouTube in another window. But the nagging feeling of something missing is twisting me up inside, and I want to feel a semblance of normalcy.
I mean, if that's ok with you.
Lips so soft, so gentle and loving against my lips. So heavenly. Tongue against tongue wreastle for dominance. The kiss makes everything better. Knees quivering, palms sweating, heart pounding. An ache fills my body. I revel in the kiss, so tender. It takes my breath away. No lips, no tongue, no quest for dominance. My eyes open from sleep. Just a dream.
Just because you have it, doesn’t mean you have to spend it.
Sometimes I have to force myself to smile, or speak when all I want to do is be expressionless and quiet. My natural inclination is to take everything in and process it, while remaining stoic. Sometimes it's painful to have expression.
to me and my fiancé, who is blind in one eye, and partially blind in the other eye, as he saw me leading my man to the table. My man was holding onto my elbow, which FYI, is a good way to lead blind people because then they can feel every movement you make a couple seconds before they have to make the same movement, ie, steps.
Waiter: Oh, it's so nice of you to lead him. You're a good person. Me: This is my fiancé. Waiter: Oh, I thought you were helping him. Me: I am, because he can't see that well. (I look over at my man, and he has this smile on his face, as if to say, "this guy,") Waiter: I guess you only need one menu then. Me: Yep, one menu would be great, but he already knows what he wants, like usual. (My man is a creature of habit) Waiter: Where are you from? Me: I'm from Columbus, Ohio. Waiter: No, where are you really from? Me: Well, I was born in New York Waiter: No, no, where are you really from? Are you American? Me: (sigh) I'm Chinese American Waiter: So you're from China. Me: (I look over at my man, and he's trying so hard not to laugh) No, but my parents are. (Before our waiter can ask) Yes, I speak Chinese. Waiter: Good, good, enjoy your dinner. My man: Well, that was awkward Me: the most awful 3 minute conversation ever. ~~~~~
I know that some people don't know better, but from the way that the waiter was speaking was like he couldn't believe my man wasn't retarded and eating from a straw the way he looked at him with pity. Please, though my man may be legally blind, he is so much more aware than me. He protects me, he makes me walk away from traffic, so if a car comes barreling over, it'll hit him before it hits me. He helps teach a woman's self defense class at OSU.
He allows women to pepper spray, punch, and kick him, and doesn't mind when the women giggle as he writhes in pain. He'd rather he get hurt than them. He also carries a gun on him, wherever the law allows him. He teaches Conceal and Carry classes.
He's very skilled at shooting, and that's where he met many of his friends. They are extremely loyal and great towards him. They trust him, and vice versa. Yes, he is legally blind, but he also has sight. It's all very confusing, and it's a story for another time.
It just really bothers me when people take one look at him, and that look of fear or pity show up. I don't think I'll ever get used to it. Eventually I will, but not now.
The way I describe my depression is that I'm a piece of pie; missing a piece. Now, you can fill the missing piece with another piece of pie, say, an apple pie, but my pie is blueberry pie. So, the apple pie fits into the missing piece, but it will forever be an apple pie in a sea of blue berry, it doesn't fit, it's not going to fit, and sure it may taste good, but the truth is, it's not blueberry, and that feeling, that nagging feeling in the back if your mind, that blueberry is not apple, and apple is not blueberry, starts to drive you crazy. So you do this.
You try to fill the piece of you missing, with cake. Chocolate cake, mind you, which is kind of the best. But when you fit the cake into your missing piece, the crumbs don't match up to fully fit into your pie. So you get that nagging feeling again that not all is right with the world. But the nagging feeling is now an itch that you can't quite scratch. You, as the pie, just want to be a whole blueberry pie. Is that so hard to ask? So you do this.
You try to make a whole other piece of blueberry pie, a better pie if you do say so yourself. But you know, and your mind knows, and your heart knows, and your big toe knows, that you can't just make a whole other pie when that old pie with the missing piece is sitting right there, watching you, judging you, needing you.
So you sit at the kitchen table, with the light shining on you like a halo, and you choose, I mean, you have to choose, right? Life is all about choices! You have the whole pie, and the one with the piece missing. You want the whole piece of pie, because that's fucking happiness, and the other is fucking misery. You want to be happy right? Right? RIGHT? Or do you want the missing piece, and feel relatively whole every once in a while, but utterly broken? What do you want? And you ponder, because what you want is usually dictated to you, and you've never actually stopped to think about what you want? Did you ask to be a blueberry pie?
So I, as the maker of the blueberry pie, make my choice. I am neither whole, or broken, I am on the verge of completion. I make my own choices. My depression is my own, and I control it. I will be whole, and I will be broken, and I have to live with it, I have to be okay with it. I have to be okay with it.